


Neon Reflected on Asphalt

by Elfgrunge



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: It's kinda shippy but you can read it as platonic, M/M, Maybe you don't even wana focus on the jontim! Maybe just focus on a 24 year old jon have just like, Motorbikes, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, a nice night for once, and they were both researchers (oh my god they were both researchers), just a chill time, low fi chill fanfics to study and relax to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrunge/pseuds/Elfgrunge
Summary: “Something wrong? You’re doing that thing again where you worry your lip when you’re…. Worried. What’s up?”Jon was somewhat sheepish in his reply. “I uh… Appear to have forgotten my credit card. All I have is my oyster, and the trains will all have stopped by now… I’m sure there’s a bus coming soon enough though, I’ll be fine.”“What? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’ll give you a ride.”
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 249





	Neon Reflected on Asphalt

“I _think_ that should’ve been the last book on the subject as a whole, though maybe I’m wrong. But honestly? I’m knackered. If it exists, I’m finding it in the morning. There’s only so much ‘Highgate Vampire’ research a man can take in an evening. See you tomorrow then?”

“What? Oh. Right, yes. I suppose so. See you in the morning, then, Tim.”Jon gave a nod towards where Tim was making his way to the exit, before turning back to the newspaper copies laid out on the desk in front of him.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on staying much longer. All work and no play makes Jon a dull boy- Well, sleep, now, I suppose, seeing as it’s- _Damn_ it’s after twelve.”

Jon’s head snapped round. “ _What?”_

“Yeah, nearly quarter past. Didn’t even notice the time go. We were here, what, nearly six extra hours excluding dinner? Might just shoot Rosie an email to clock me in for the overtime and not show up tomorrow. I’ll throw your name in too if you want?”

“Uh, no, no, that won’t be-”

“Are you _sure?_ ” Tim asked, cutting him off. His eyebrows were raised in a way that implied there was definitely a right answer to this question and it was not the one Jon wanted to give.

He sighed. “Fine. Yes, please, though I can’t guarantee I won’t show up regardless.” Tim rolled his eyes, before picking up his phone and quickly typing away a message.

Jon felt his brow crease again when his thoughts drifted back to the problem at hand. 

Picking up his satchel, he rifled through the inside pocket until he pulled out his wallet. He flipped through, producing nothing but an oyster card, and the pitiful amount of change left over after being dragged out for dinner with Tim earlier in the evening, as something that was deemed a ‘Necessary research break’. Honestly, on all of the days to have forgotten his card. 

“Something wrong? You’re doing that thing again where you worry your lip when you’re…. Worried. What’s up?”

Jon was somewhat sheepish in his reply. “I uh… Appear to have forgotten my credit card. All I have is my oyster, and the trains will all have stopped by now… I’m sure there’s a bus coming soon enough though, I’ll be fine.” 

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’ll give you a ride.” 

“You’ll- What?” 

“I’m, like, ninety percent sure you’re on my route home anyway, it’s not a problem.”

“That's- That would be… Thank you, Tim. That would be much appreciated.” 

“Any time. C’mon.” 

He took a minute to gather his things, before following Tim out into the cold night air. 

Tim had pulled a leather jacket off the hook on the way through reception, and was midway through zipping it up over his hoodie. Jon, thinking it a wonderful August morning when he’d left the house, had neglected to lift anything more than the cardigan he was wearing. He tried to ignore the shivering. 

“Probably should have asked,” Tim said, turning to face Jon but not slowing his pace, “You haven’t got any, I don’t know, bike-related grievances?” 

“What? No, why would I-” 

“Cool, cool, cool, just wondering.” 

“Is this _relevant_?”

“Pretty much, yes!” Tim said, stopping suddenly in the street and slapping a hand against the handles of the motorbike parked next to them. 

Jon spluttered. “Since- Since when do _you_ drive a motorbike?”

“Oh, a while now. Only just got my full license recently though, so I’ve only just started taking her to work. Ain’t she a beaut?” 

“I.. Suppose so, though I’m afraid I don’t quite know much about… Motorbikes.”

Tim hummed, leaning down to fiddle with the handles and do amounts of prep that Jon couldn’t understand, and didn’t really try to. 

Eventually, he tried to continue, if only to give himself something to do rather than standing in the cold. “You must have been saving a while, researcher's salary and all.” 

He couldn’t see Tim’s face from the angle he was turned to, but from the tension in his shoulders, Jon thought he could see a flinch. Right. Of course. Tactless questions, again. Of course his co-worker giving him a ride home didn’t want to discuss finances. 

“It was my brother’s, actually,” Tim said. His voice was slightly quieter, more tempered than his usual joviality. “He uh… Passed away, a couple of years ago. I ended up with the bike. Figured I might as well get some use out of it.” 

“Oh, I’m… Sorry, Tim. For him and, uh, for the question.” 

Tim turned back to him with a grin, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” 

By now he was holding a helmet under one arm, produced from the small box attached to the back of the bike. “Sorry I’ve only got one. Just… Try not to fall off?” 

“What? Oh, yes, of course.”

Tim pulled the helmet on, before setting into motion, throwing one leg over the other side of the bike and sitting down to grip the handles. “Hop on.”

“Wait, you want me to…”

“Get on the back, yeah. C’mon, you didn’t think I was gonna whip out a sidecar or something, did you? Just get on, it’s not a big deal.”

Jon wanted to refute that it was, in fact, a big deal, but considering it was approaching one in the morning, he really didn’t want to stand in the middle of the freezing cold street and make a show of not getting on the bike. So he got on. 

“Arms around me, otherwise you’re really going to wish you were the one with the helmet,” Tim said, muffled by the helmet and positioning. 

Jon complied. 

It struck him, then, that he had never really imagined what Tim _felt_ like. Jon wasn’t really a touchy person in general, and certainly not within the workplace, and while Tim was more tactile than most, Jon had never really experienced more than an arm slung around his shoulder as he was corralled into joining a group of researchers headed out for lunch. 

It surprised him just how _warm_ Tim was. Warm and solid beneath his hands, arms snug around his waist while he gently leeched heat back into himself. 

And then Tim started the bike, and they were off. 

Immediately he was clinging tighter. He hadn’t quite anticipated the physics of the whole scenario. He knew, theoretically, that a bike speeding uninhibited down a near abandoned London street would cause its rider(s) to be pushed backwards slightly, necessitating the fact that one would have to hold on more when it was moving. He didn’t quite realise that putting this into practise would mean him pressing the side of his face directly against Tim’s back, soft leather sticking to his cheek as he clung on, white-knuckled. 

He could hear Tim laughing ahead as he sped up, lack of traffic making him bold. 

When he finally managed to pry his eyes open through the terror, the adrenaline kicked in. Slowly, cautiously, he leaned back again, just enough to turn his neck. If he was still pressed flat against Tim’s back, well, who else was to know. 

Despite living in London for some four years now, Jon had never really experienced it at night. He didn’t go out much, not really one for excess of drink nor company, so it was like he was seeing the city in a whole new light. He supposed he was, in a way. 

It had rained, some time in between them re-entering and exiting the institute. This left all the neon lights that shone down from above them to reflect, glassy half-impressions of signs and storefronts glinting off the wet asphalt of the road and concrete of the pavements that ran alongside.

It was beautiful. 

It was one in the morning, probably the latest his twenty-four-year-old self had been out in years, and he was speeding through a deserted London with his arms around Tim Stoker, and life was beautiful. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even ship jontim and yet,  
> here we are,
> 
> Thank you to Sarah and Julian for proofreading ily 
> 
> Based on a tumblr post I made and y'all REALLY liked @ radiosandrecordings


End file.
